Custodian
by Alsike
Summary: Multi-Fandom Crossover, starring Jill Bernhardt, Emily Prentiss, and Claire Kirchner aka Alex Cabot as members of the Connecticut Mafia. Heading to San Francisco to stop a leak, they end up on the trail of a serial killer. But do they care?


Corpses were nothing new in this job, but Jill still cringed every time she saw one. She hung back in the doorway and popped open her tin of Altoids, offering them around before taking one. Claire took one with barely a nod and scanned the room through her tinted glasses. She always seemed to have an invisible checklist in her head that she was going through. Jill had no idea what she saw, but the younger woman had the irritating tendency of being right all the time.

Emily smiled at her as she took a mint, putting it on the back of her tongue so she could keep it pressed against her soft palate. She dropped to her knees beside the body, pulling on latex gloves. "Stabbing, brilliant," she muttered, her voice muffled.

Jill gritted her teeth and tried not to look at the blood-soaked shirtfront. The bodies were always fresh, so the scent of decomposition wasn't an issue, but after three years of this she still hadn't trained her gag reflex. Sometimes she wished she hadn't been disbarred in New York, but then she remembered the vats of papers and webs of lies that had been her life and didn't regret it so much.

She sidled past the body towards the computer. And this way she got to fake her own evidence instead of trying to convince the judge and jury that she wasn't completely bullshitting them (which she was). She had won cases with paperwork that looked like it had been faked by a four year old. That had been until the asshole that had had this job before her submitted a warrant with the forged signature of the same judge who was on her bench. If he had bothered to run it by her first she would have caught it.

Claire's blunt voice cut into her internal griping. "How long?"

Emily glanced up. "Two hours? The rug is shot; we'll have to dump it. Then its just ammonia and elbow grease."

"The body?"

"I'll drop him in an alley outside an ATM. He's perfect." Emily glanced back at the body and frowned. She lifted the corpse's arm and looked at it. Jill gulped and turned away. "No defensive wounds through. That's strange, especially because he was stabbed from the front."

"Not that strange if it was a trained assassin," said Claire. She crouched down to inspect the body as well. "Look, only two entry points. He knew what he was doing."

Emily was still frowning, but she reached into the corpse's coat and pulled out a wallet. She flipped through it. There was a scrap of paper with two phone numbers on it in the money pocket, which she plucked out and held out to Jill, who had to lean over the body to grab it. Claire took the wallet and tucked it away. She tossed a flash drive at Jill, who snagged it with a flourish.

"That's a new virus they want us to try. Stay and help Prentiss clean up." Without a goodbye Claire turned and walked out the door.

Jill shook her head and flashed a wry grin at Emily. "Seriously, our little princess needs to get laid."

Emily laughed, but kept focused, pulling out a bundle of plastic trash bags to pack the corpse in. "I love that you call her 'our little princess.'"

Jill tapped the power key and jimmied the flash drive in. "It's perfect, isn't it?" Passwords, yuck. She glanced around the desk: a post-it on the wall. She typed in the code and crumpled up the paper. His desktop opened up, a snapshot filling the screen: a dog, a small child, a pretty blonde woman. His wife and kid? A frame was face down on the edge of the desk. She picked it up. The glass was cracked and the picture showed a hollow-cheeked, dark woman. She looked vaguely familiar. "Claire is obviously younger than us, but she gets put on our team and immediately takes over. And it's pretty clear she has a higher rank than us. I stole her phone once, and I have seen none of those numbers before. I think she's slumming."

Emily snorted. "Slumming?"

Jill tapped the mouse and started installing the virus. "Those sweatshirts and sunglasses? She wears them like power suits."

"Shit." Jill glanced over. Emily flashed a badge at her. "Dirty cop."

"Christ. We'd better pick up well."

"Do you think they'll notice the missing rug? Maybe we should get a replacement."

Jill opened up the guy's email. Same password. For a guy flirting with the mob he really didn't get the concept of personal security. One new message.

_Dear Tom,_

_I hate to start off a message this way, but I'm counting the days until you come home. I'm fine and so is little Lindsay. School is going well. I wish I didn't have to work so we could be there with you. But I'll enjoy our 70-degree weather while we have it. The orange tree is full of fruit and the genesta has just started popping (not to make you homesick). We miss you._

_Love, Heather_

There was an attached photo of the kid and dog under the orange tree. The sunlight looked artificial, it was that perfect. It was barely September and New York was already dropping below thirty at night. Jill spared a glance at the body. What was that idiot doing wasting his time here?

"No one's going to notice. He's not from around here. California, I think. It looks nice. I was planning on running away to there if the Cabots hadn't hired me."

"California?" Emily sounded sad.

Jill gave her a smile. "You're a East Coast girl, I know."

"Not by choice." Emily looked up from stuffing the guy's legs into the plastic bag and gave Jill a look that was a clear request for assistance. There was no way to avoid it. Jill jerked at the bag while Emily hoisted the man's waist up. Then Jill was required to keep him in a sitting position while Emily bagged his top half. Long hot shower, she thought. Long. Hot. Shower.

"Help me get him down to the car."

The virus was running just fine on its own. Jill helped Emily manhandle the body out into the hallway and then started picking the lock on the staff elevator. Five floors of stairs with a corpse, even in a tenement apartment, was asking for trouble. She was nearly finished when Claire showed up again. Emily tossed her the badge, and she nodded, unsurprised. She looked at Jill. "I have the keys."

"It's no problem." Jill gave a last twist and the call button lit up. She had been so psyched when she got her first set of lock-picks. It was so much better than a pair of paperclips and a screwdriver blade. She grinned at Claire, slipping her picks back in her pocket, the pleasure hadn't died yet. Claire raised her eyebrows in the look Jill preferred to interpret as repressed amusement. (The other option was 'you are such an idiot').

"So, who offed this guy?"

"Gilmores, probably," Emily said, her voice muffled as she used her knee to shove the body through the doors. Jill watched the denim stretch. For someone as stiff and controlled as Emily, she certainly could bend when she needed to.

"Why are we cleaning up their messes?" It _was_ rhetorical.

"Because a cop murdered in his own home screams mystery, and we don't need the police tracing him to our other contacts in San Francisco," said Claire, without a hint of irony.

Jill gave Emily a look. Higher rank, obviously. Emily just glared back and Jill quickly helped her keep the body upright. Claire pressed the button for the ground floor.

Outside Claire stood in the shadows acting as lookout while Jill and Emily stuffed the guy in the trunk.

"We're totally the lackeys," muttered Jill.

"I like to think of us as knights," replied Emily, hoisting a gallon of ammonia on her index finger. "Body dump or start scrubbing, your pick."

"I haven't done the files," Jill whined. But she took the ammonia and started for the elevator. Her arm brushed against a wet spot on her shirt, oh, so gross. She was wearing black, which hid blood well, but the psychological implications of a shirt that you had to wash blood out of were just not okay. It was going in the incinerator with the files, immediately.

Claire was in the hallway on her phone, as usual. Jill gave her a dirty look. Honestly, she liked her, but no team spirit.

"You want us to do it? But we're a janitorial crew!" Claire hissed into the phone as Jill passed. She glanced back, interested, but Claire saw her and turned to the wall.

The files had been a surprise. Jill just looked at the titles and started bagging them. Cabots, Gilmores, embezzlement, kidnapping, torture. Whoever killed him, it was probably about time.

She rolled up the disgusting blood-soaked carpet and bagged it. Emily would be pleased. Still, Jill doubted she'd get a smile for it while they were working. The virus was finished and she took out the flash drive and changed her gloves before she re-encrypted the computer. Bloody glove prints were not particularly subtle.

Emily came back in with a mop and a bucket.

"I did the rug." Jill said pathetically and cringed. Begging for praise did not look good on anyone.

Emily smiled and handed her the bucket.

Claire showed up and actually wiped down a few printable surfaces. Jill elbowed Emily. "Manual labor! The shock!" she whispered.

Then she felt guilty. "Claire." Claire glanced at her, pushing her glasses up her nose. She had a penetrating look, but Jill wasn't easily intimidated. "I was thinking we could all go out tonight, have a drink, check out the ladies, or lords, according to preference."

That was another irritating thing about Claire; she made Jill's gaydar ping like crazy, but she had no proof one way or another.

"Not unless it's in California."

Jill blinked. Even Emily looked up from where she was scraping the cracks in between the floorboards with a toothbrush.

"Apparently Detective Tom Hogan, was a mole. He was working for us and reporting back."

Jill nodded. That made sense for the files.

"And we've been assigned to root out all of his contacts. We want to stop the flow of his information."

"We're supposed to dispose of them," said Emily quietly. Claire nodded shortly.

Emily was looking tortured. Jill grimaced and tried to put a spin on it. "The weather's nice there, Heather said so."

Claire looked at her blankly. "Heather?"

"His wife." It was nice to know something that Claire didn't for once.

Claire gave her a look that suggested she wasn't as useless as she had previously imagined.

"Should I load his email onto the flash drive?"

"The virus should have taken care of it."

"Cool." Jill patted her pocket.

Emily tossed the toothbrush into the bucket and squeezed out the mop. "I think we're done here." She still wasn't totally okay. Jill hated seeing her locked into those memories. She took the bucket from her and hooked her arm through her elbow.

"We'll drop the rug in the river and go home to pack?"

Claire nodded. "The plane leaves at six pm. Be there at 5:15 at the latest, no checked luggage. And this is a public flight, so no equipment. We'll be meeting a contact on the other side. She'll have access to everything we need."

Claire left. Emily took her bucket back and used the ammonia bottle to wedge the mop in and tried to balance the rug under one arm. Jill slung the sack of files over her shoulder and grabbed the rear end of the rug.

"God, she makes me crazy." As an afterthought Jill grabbed the photo of the dark woman and stuffed it in her pocket. Maybe she would remember who she was.

Emily laughed. "Actually, you're a lot alike."

Jill frowned and almost tripped as they went around the corner. "What?"

"When you're dealing with people you think are idiots, I couldn't tell you apart. Well… except that you're more obviously sarcastic. But you loosen up with friends. She just doesn't have an off mode."

"Or she doesn't have friends." That was bitter.

Emily shook her head. "I think she likes us. She didn't turn you down when you suggested going out. We should do it. Morale."

Jill arched her eyebrows. "Once a cop, always a cop."

"I was never a cop!" Emily smirked. "Once a delinquent, always a delinquent."

Hey!" Jill grinned. "I never got caught."

***

Jill fell asleep on Emily's shoulder during the flight. Claire got an upgrade to first class, leaving Emily to sit awkwardly and wonder whether it was her own fault for being neurotic and emotionally unavailable that she felt so uncomfortable with physical contact, or if it was her mother's fault for being unaffectionate and emotionally remote. She usually blamed herself. Emily had never been physically affectionate. Surely it couldn't be her mother's fault that the- (she counted) -four relationships she had ever been in were either secret, based on convenience or both secret and based on convenience. She didn't believe in Freud.

And before she had started working for the Cabots she hadn't had a friendship that wasn't about manipulation or personal gain. The FBI was as bad as politicians in that way. It was odd that the first person who hadn't treated her like an enemy or a pawn was her colleague in the Connecticut Mafia. Morgan had been a bit of an idiot, but he had treated her like a person. She had almost gotten used to the idea of 'joking around' when he screwed up and was transferred to Siberia (technically northern Saskatchewan, but the difference was minimal). Jill had taken his place, and had somehow automatically assumed that they would get dinner together, and talk about unimportant things and eventually important things, and after the first time Jill had hugged her goodbye Emily realized that she had someone she could call a friend without the irony and air quotes.

Unfortunately, Emily thought, as Jill twisted away from her shoulder and leaned against the window, leaving her with a nagging feeling of disappointment, she wasn't very good at having friends.

It was only 9 by California time, and Jill, completely refreshed from her nap, decided it was still early enough for them to go out. She seemed to assume that Emily would do whatever she wanted, which wasn't exactly untrue, and focused her attentions on convincing Claire, who seemed unimpressed with the idea.

Ignoring them, Emily glanced around as they passed out of the secure area. There was a woman holding a sign that read Kirchner. It was professionally lettered and she was even wearing a chauffeur's cap, but her expression of utter disdain made it obvious that this was not her usual job. Emily suspected that this was their contact. She was incredibly good-looking, as most employees of the Cabots seemed to be, tall and athletic-looking with brown hair and long legs in well-cut slacks. Emily glanced back to her companions and she suddenly felt a stab of fear. Jill was giving her that look that said she had caught her checking the woman out. She elbowed Emily surreptitiously.

"Go for it."

Emily cringed. One of the problems with being friends with Jill was that she had been pegged as 'repressed,' and Jill made it her personal mission to encourage her into as many liaisons as possible. Emily's tendency towards tragically unrequited love affairs was verboten.

And, as expected, Jill strode right up to the woman and stuck out her hand.

"Hi, I'm Jill, that's Claire, and the one who was checking you out is Emily."

Emily went scarlet.

"And you?"

"Sara." They shook hands. Sara turned to Claire and gave her an odd half bow. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"I have too."

Jill was confused and looked at Emily, who didn't understand either, but hadn't forgiven her yet, and looked away.

Sara led them out to the car, another ubiquitous black SUV, a Lexus this time. Jill wouldn't let Emily ignore her for long. They slid into the back, while Claire took shotgun and Sara drove.

"Who is this girl?" Jill muttered to Emily, not quietly enough. Claire turned in her seat to look at them.

"Don't you read those papers you steal? Sara Sidle is our regional expert on forensic evidence. She developed two new methods of untraceably destroying a body."

"Then why'd you bring me?" Emily grumbled.

"Because you shoot people."

Silence filled the car.

"Not for fun," Emily finally responded, and put her hand on Jill's to make her stop shooting invisible lasers into the back of Claire's head. Claire had only heard about it through official channels, and criticizing her lack of tact in only this situation would be unfairly arbitrary.

They pulled up outside of a plain house, the drive shadowed by trees.

"This is it."

"Sara," started Jill. "We were thinking of going out and having a good time tonight. Do you want to come along? Show us some good places?"

Sara looked surprised at the invitation. She glanced at Claire who looked irritated but resigned. "Uh, sure."

"Great! Ten thirty?"

"Okay."

Claire groaned audibly. Jill leaned into Emily and whispered into her ear, "Help me bully Claire into something sexy. We need to get her laid tonight, since you're set."

"Shut-_up," _Emily hissed.

Jill was complaining about Claire's sneakers when Emily got out of the bathroom. She glanced over and then _looked_. Emily froze.

"Fuck," said Jill.

Emily cringed, and then cursed her mom for giving her an involuntary revulsion to swearing. But her mom had expected her to go into politics, not crime.

"You are so fucking hot." Jill shook her head. "If it weren't for my rules…"

Emily had heard this one before. _Jill didn't sleep with friends_. From her research, Emily had decided that Jill divided all her relationships into two groups: people I like, and people I fuck. In regards to this, Emily thought Jill's complaining about her own romantic neuroses to be a little rich.

"Yeah…" Emily looked at Claire, who was regarding the situation with her usual impassivity. Jill had done a good job. She had gotten her out of the hooded sweatshirts that made her look like a high-school student. Bony shoulders though. "You look nice."

Claire nodded, obviously not caring. Emily found that attitude to be healthy and resolved to imitate it in the future.

Sara was precisely on time. No one else was ready so Emily stood in the kitchen with her awkwardly. She deduced that this wasn't really Sara's thing. Starting conversations with people she didn't know wasn't Emily's thing. The clock above the doorway ticked away a full minute. This was humiliating.

"So, Claire said something about you developing a new way of destroying corpses?"

Sara's relaxation was visible. "Two ways, actually."

Her awkwardness cut the arrogance of the statement. "Are they convenient? Because the worst part of a scene always seems to be dragging stuff around."

Sara nodded, agreeing. "Well, they're not good for any situation. And they don't solve any problems except what to do with the body."

"What are the methods? I mean, burning isn't convenient, and the cement shoe has gone out of style."

"I have this one using bugs."

Emily blinked. "How fast…"

"It only takes two or three days." Sara looked exited now. "If you get enough of them they'll destroy the body completely, planting larvae in the bones and even breaking _them_ down."

"That's incredible."

"Have I just stumbled upon the most disgusting conversation on the planet?" Jill looked truly repulsed and Claire gave her an odd look.

"How did you get involved in cleaning crime scenes?"

Jill shrugged as they all started for the car. It was a long story. "How did you?"

Claire pressed her lips together into a thin line. No-go area, obviously.

"Better question. What's your type? I'm having an altruistic day today, and I need to know who to hook you up with."

Sara was looking absolutely dumbfounded. Emily sighed. "We're not usually this trivial, honestly."

"I don't have a type."

"Have you had sex?"

That was blunt. Claire glared at Jill over the tops of her glasses. "Yes."

"And…"

"I can't say it created a desperate urge for more."

Jill grinned. "Guy or girl?"

"It was a man."

"Okay, we're looking for a girl tonight then."

"What?"

"Well, men obviously failed to impress, so let's try a new option."

"I'm not attracted to women."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that Emily is not one of the sexiest women on the planet."

Emily shuffled down in her seat and tried to reduce her visibility.

Claire looked blandly at Jill. "Emily is not one of the sexiest women on the planet." Her voice was utterly flat. There was a long pause and no one blinked. Then Emily heard her the most unnerving uncanny sound. Claire was laughing. Jill's jaw dropped. "All right! That is such a blatant lie. But it means nothing!" She shook her head. "Why are we wasting our time on this?"

"Team bonding," replied Jill. "Emily's idea."

Even Sara glared at her for that. Emily hid as best she could.

***

Jill thought things were going pretty well. Sara and Emily were comparing stories about escaped brain matter, which made her want to vomit, and about three people had checked Claire out already, even though she was acting like a seriously peeved robot.

Getting the drinks was a good way of avoiding brain splatter stories as well as the next series of Claire's bored fidgeting. Altruism didn't feel as bad as expected.

She had been hit on by two guys already, one skinny with Italian stubble, and the other built with washboard abs, but even if it wasn't her altruism day, she was having a pizza night. That was how she explained it to herself. In general Jill went for guys with the occasional exception. But working around women like Emily and Claire all day everyday made guys less than satisfying. It was like working in a pizzeria, surrounded by bubbling sauces and melting cheese, and not being allowed to sample _anything_, and then, after work, someone offers you ice cream. You like ice cream, but seriously, you _need_ pizza.

The bartender looked up from under the bar and smiled. It was the widest, brightest smile she had ever seen. The skin around the woman's blue-grey eyes crinkled. Her eyes were a strange contrast to her dark hair.

"Sorry. The management don't like it when I flash the populace."

The woman was holding shut the front of her strapless halter-top where the laces had come undone.

"No trouble. I can wait. Or… help?"

"I charge extra for that," she replied with another broad grin, and Jill made her decision. She _had_ to hook Claire up with this woman.

"How much? Don't double knot that thing, you never know when you need to get out of it."

"More than you can afford." She replied, not offended at all.

"How about her?" Jill jabbed her thumb in Claire's direction and the bartender glanced over. Suddenly all the playfulness in her expression was gone and her odd pale eyes looked strangely cold.

"Who is she?"

"…Claire?"

"I think she could afford anything." Then the woman seemed to focus and her smile was back.

"Yeah?" Jill frowned. She didn't trust that quick change.

"Sexy glasses, you know, I have a weakness. What's your order? I'll bring it out."

Jill gave it to her, hesitantly. She'd give Claire a heads-up, just in case. She slid into the booth across from her and leaned on her elbow. "I may have picked someone up for you."

Claire's glare could have melted steel. Before Jill could explain her worries the woman was over there setting down the four drinks, giving a smile to each of them, and lastly putting down the one in front of Claire.

"For you."

Claire flashed Jill a harsh look and then glanced up into the woman's face. The bartender smiled and Claire looked shocked and unsettled. Jill frowned and wished they hadn't had to leave all their weapons in New York. But then Claire looked away, as if she were embarrassed, and Jill gave up on following what was going on. Either they were long-lost enemies, or this was what love at first sight looked like from the outside. And truthfully, Jill had no clue which one it was.

"Lori! Get back to your post!"

The bartender, Lori apparently, glanced over at the voice and wrinkled her nose at him. "Don't screw this for me, loser!"

Then she bent quickly and wrote her number on a napkin. "I'm off at midnight." She gave a brazen grin, tapped Claire on the nose and left. Claire looked floored.

"What is this?" She picked up the napkin between her fingertips as if it were contaminated evidence.

Jill sat back, smiling awkwardly. "I have no clue. But I'm pretty sure if you want to test that lesbian hypothesis, you have a willing subject."

Claire crumpled up the napkin, but didn't throw it away. Instead she stuffed it in her pocket. "I'm not attracted to women."

Jill glanced over to the bar where the woman was laughing and arguing with the guy who had called her away. "You sure? Because I'd hit that."

Claire's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare."

And Jill just laughed.

***

Sara was really cute when she smiled, Emily had noticed, but her smiles were rare, and usually sad. It was also clear that if she made the first move, Sara wouldn't say no, but it would also be just the one night, and that would make the rest of the week awkward. Either way, Emily wasn't one to make the first move.

Her eyes drifted over to where Jill was trying to convince Claire to dance, or at least go sit at the bar and chat up that really intense bartender. Claire was having none of it. She almost laughed when she saw Claire break her impassive mold and lunge to throttle Jill, who side stepped out of the way. Then she caught Sara watching her with an understanding smile and Emily felt the rush of panic hit her. She couldn't understand. That was not okay.

Sara's hand was suddenly on hers and she tipped her head towards the door. "Let's go outside."

The air was chill, but not near freezing like it would have been in New York. Still, San Francisco was not the 70-degree paradise that Jill had described. Emily wrapped her arms around herself and stood awkwardly next to Sara who was twitching her fingers.

"This was a lot easier when I smoked."

Emily let out a chuckle. "I can see that."

Emily Prentiss had never smoked, well, according to her mother. Still, one cigarette outside her private school in Turkey was not something to brag about.

"This sort of partying isn't my thing."

"I guessed." Emily sighed and turned to Sara who had her hands in her pockets, her head tipped forward. It was pretty clear that she wanted to say something but didn't know how to start. "Look, can we just not talk about it? I don't need…"

"No! I totally understand." Sara shared another of her shy half-smiles, and Emily thought she might understand quite a lot. Still, not talking about it was the best plan.

"Good." Emily stepped into Sara's personal space and cupped her cheek. "Is this okay?"

This time Sara really smiled. "I thought you didn't want to talk."

_I don't_, Emily considered saying, but it was a waste of time, and just kissed her instead. Yeah, that never making the first move thing was more of a guideline than an actual rule.

***

Emily and Sara had disappeared, and Jill finally gave up on trying to make Claire dance or move any closer to the bar. Her altruism had run its course, and she was pretty sure the other two had departed with the car, so she and Claire had to make their own way home. But she was out, and if you were out you ought to dance.

Jill turned, surveying the room, and caught sight of a redhead sitting half turned out of a table full of rowdy drunken boys. She looked bored and like she wanted to be anywhere but there. It was as good an opportunity as anything. She sauntered over and gave the girl a smile. "You want to dance for a bit?"

The girl looked surprised and did that stupid glance around thing to certify that she was the one being asked. She looked eager, then guilty. One of the guys at the table gave her a shove. "Go on, Cin."

"Oh man, I won't need porn tonight."

Jill caught her hand and pulled her up. "You looked like you wanted to get away."

The girl chuckled softly, pushing escaped hair behind her ear. "Yeah, drunken reporters, ugh."

Jill tensed and then forced it away so the girl wouldn't notice. "Reporters?" Newsmen were bad news. When you committed crimes for a living (or practiced law), you knew to avoid them. Let something slip and your cover was gone.

"After work drinks."

"So… You're a reporter?"

"Cultural Events." Cultural Events, that was okay. As long as it wasn't crime. "But I really want to be an investigative reporter."

"Oh."

"What do you do?"

Jill froze. "I'm a lawyer for the mob." Cindy looked at her oddly and then gave a hesitant smile. Jill laughed at the discomfort on her face, and Cindy laughed along with her, assuming it was a joke. "I'm a lawyer. But I defend scummy corporations, so it feels like I work for the mob sometimes."

"Cindy Thomas." She stuck out her hand, an awkward dance move to say the least, but Jill shook it.

"Jill Bernhardt."

Cindy was cute, but cute wasn't Jill's type. Still, they had a good time dancing and split a cab after the reporter boys had left. Claire was still sitting at the table, nursing her drink. Jill was pretty sure she was waiting for the cute bartender to get off. Two hookups- she had been successful tonight.

She made sure Cindy was dropped off before her. You didn't want reporters knowing where you lived.

"I had a good time."

"Me too." They hugged awkwardly and Cindy got out, giving her an odd glance that seemed a bit like regret. Jill hoped it wasn't regret that she hadn't weaseled out more information about the 'lawyer for the mob' comment. She really needed to learn how to shut her mouth.

***

Ten minutes after midnight Lori slid into the booth across from Claire and gave her a questioning look.

Claire pushed her glasses up her nose and looked hard at the woman, oddly familiar and yet unrecognizable, and prepared her statement.

"Look. I'm not particularly interested in you… or… _this_." Claire wasn't certain what she was implying with the 'this,' but Lori grinned, and she assumed some meaning had come through. "But, I've been pressured to… experimentally validate a statement I made. And if you're not diseased, or planning anything… weird…"

"I have a fake cock I could fuck you with."

Claire considered this for a moment and nodded. "That sounds fine."

A broad slow smile crossed the other woman's face, and for a moment Claire felt like prey. She pressed her knees together.

"I'll get my jacket."

Claire waited outside the back door by the dumpsters for her. It felt like an appropriate place. She was having second thoughts. Lori came out and leaned against the wall next to her.

"Shouldn't I tell you my name?"

"Don't bother. Let's get this over with." Claire turned and started off. Lori grabbed her wrist. Claire couldn't throw her off. She was surprisingly strong.

"Hold up."

Claire turned on her, her mouth opening to curse her. But the woman stepped into her, so close their hips brushed, and threaded her fingers through her hair.

"Aren't you going to let me kiss you?"

"Here?" Claire was ashamed of the quaver in her voice.

"Just a kiss." Their mouths met, and it felt like breathing again after suffocating. Claire groaned internally. Jill was going to gloat about this _forever_.

***

Emily staggered down the stairs right as the coffee machine finished the first pot. Jill poured her a cup and handed it over, black with about two tablespoons of sugar. She wouldn't get a word out of her otherwise. Emily was a vampire who ran on coffee.

"Sooo, Sara didn't stay the night?" Jill knew that already. The car was gone by the time her taxi pulled up, and she had checked on Emily, who was already sleeping, her hair spread out over the pillow, lipstick worn off her face.

Emily blushed. Jill pretended to grin and hoped to god that Emily would remain true to form and change the subject.

"Isn't Claire here? She's usually the first one up." This wasn't their first away mission together, but usually it was somewhere trashy like Atlantic City. And it was true, Claire was usually waiting down in the kitchen with a pile of papers and a frown for being so lazy. Sometimes Jill doubted that she actually slept.

"I didn't hear her come in last night." This time it was easy to grin. "I think she'll be late."

But right then Claire strode in the front door, looking as orderly and well put-together as always. Except, Jill noticed, there was lipstick on her collar (which was _so_ cliché!) and she thought she saw the hint of a hickey on her neck.

"Hello lover-girl!"

Claire scowled at her, but took the proffered coffee. Emily started making toast and they settled around the table.

"So what's the plan for today?" Jill wasn't going to ask Claire for details just yet. It was clear that it had gone well, if the hesitant way she took her seat was any indication, and it would be more fun to watch her stew.

Claire frowned. "My notes are upstairs, but I was planning on checking out his precinct."

"Sara ran his phone records," said Emily from the refrigerator. "She has a list of everyone he's called in the past six months. I could play insurance salesman."

"I was thinking I could go visit Heather," said Jill.

Claire stared at her blankly. "Heather?"

"His wife. I think we've had this conversation before. Do you think she's been informed of his death yet?"

Claire frowned again. It looked like she hadn't prepared her checklist this time. The woman-loving had obviously interfered with her control of the situation. That rocked.

"I suppose if anyone knew about what he was doing, it could have been his wife."

"She would at least have had suspicions," added Emily.

"And know who he was close to."

"Fine!" Claire sounded irritated. "Go see Heather. But be careful. I don't know if his body's been found and identified yet." She scowled and held her head. "I didn't get a chance to prepare." She glared and then mumbled something that Jill translated into; "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, either."

Jill did an internal end-zone dance. "Okay, the plan's set then. You're on precinct duty. Em's got phones, and I'm chatting up the widow. Now we can dish. Spill, honey, I can see the hickey on your neck."

Claire glared at her, her hand involuntarily going to her neck. "If I say you were right and I should have tried girls years ago, can we never mention this again?"

"Oh no. I want details!"

***

The dead man's house was a charming bungalow with a white picket fence and a dog in the yard way up in the Berkeley hills. The woman who answered the door was pale and drawn. She had gotten the phone call.

"My condolences," Jill said, unable to think of another opener. Heather just looked at her blankly. "I'm from New York."

"Oh… Come in."

Jill sat down at the kitchen table as Heather automatically went through the motions of making tea.

"Thank you for coming out so quickly."

"This must have been a shock."

"Yes…" Heather stared vaguely out the window. "And no… yes. I mean, it's always a shock, but I was aware that his job was dangerous. I just never expected it to be like this, a random mugging. I thought he could handle that sort of thing. He was so strong. He always seemed so strong."

"I understand. Actually, we are investigating the idea that the stabbing may have been mob related, rather than a financially motivated mugging."

Heather seemed to go limp and Jill jumped up, helping her into a chair. "But how? I thought it had been closed. The detective who called… He seemed so sure."

"I would appreciate it if you did not mention our suspicion to any of Detective Hogan's colleagues on the force. We are afraid that there may be an internal connection."

"Oh no." Heather was very pale, but she seemed firmer now. "Tom was visiting New York on a special investigation. Do you think someone could have told and had him taken out?"

"It's very possible. Can you give me the names of the people he worked closely with?"

"I- as many as I can remember…"

"Thank you so much, Heather."

After a second cup of tea, Jill had a list of names and a description of Heather's life with Tom. Her work as a teacher took up much of her time, but she was always regular, and Tom's odd hours were hard on the family.

"Does he keep any files in the house? A computer?" Finally Heather looked worried.

"Do you have ID?"

Jill liked that, inviting her into the house, giving her tea, telling her every intimate detail of her life, but asking for ID (not even a warrant, one of which she had spent nearly fifteen minutes preparing that morning) before she showed her the computer, which, if connected to the internet, Jill could probably access from the moon.

Jill gave her best secretive smile and then pulled out one of her fake ids. She hesitated between IAB and FBI for a moment, but went for the Feds instead. Heather looked surprised at knowing it was a federal investigation. That was probably good.

"And you- I didn't even ask your name."

"Jillian Kirchner."

"Heather Hogan." Jill gave her best cop-smile and took Heather's hand. If she really was a fed, going for the victim's wife would be totally not okay. She tried her best not to imply anything with her smile except empathy.

On the way to Tom's office they passed the nursery where a four-year-old girl was napping. Heather paused outside the door and Jill looked in, hiding a grimace. Children were really not her thing.

"I haven't told her yet, little Lindsay…"

Something was bothering Jill. She fished the photo out of her pocket.

"Do you know this woman? The photo was on his desk."

"Oh! How strange." Heather looked at her. "Tom always kept that photo close to him, but there's no reason to look into it. That's Lindsay Boxer, Tom's first love."

"Your child's namesake?" That was one well-adjusted wife to name her child after her husband's ex.

"Yes. She was a cop too. They were in the academy together. She was murdered."

"I see." Somehow that news hit Jill far harder than she had expected. She didn't even know the woman.

"A serial killer. Tom's first big case. It catapulted him to detective. I don't think he ever got over the injustice of it."

"I can see why." Jill sighed and followed Heather into the office. Lindsay Boxer… "Was she Texan?"

Heather blinked. "Yes. How did you know?"

Jill frowned, staring at the photo before shoving it back into her coat. "I have no idea."

***

Emily stood outside of Cabot headquarters in San Francisco and stared upwards in shock. The building was massive, shooting upwards in a vast tower of glass and chrome. She pushed through the revolving door, passed security and into one of the twelve elevators. Sara was waiting for her, when the doors opened on the thirtieth floor. She gave her an awkward smile, but Emily was too distracted by the building. Even on the inside the glass and chrome continued. Apparently floors thirty and up were all Cabot offices, and they had their own dedicated elevators, capsules of glass with gold trim moving up and down to reach irregular balconies. The vast room was open to the huge arched roof, also glass, that showed a panoramic view of the sky.

"You've come on a good day. We're usually shrouded by fog."

Finally Emily looked at Sara, and blushed, more for ignoring her than anything else.

"It's incredible. New York offices are crap in comparison."

They stepped into a glass elevator and started up to a mid level balcony. "We have a direct tie to the casinos up in Vegas. This is all casino design: bullet proof glass." She rapped on the side of the elevator. "The fixation with gold and chrome."

"You seem pretty well funded."

"We should be. We're technically the number 2 Cabot headquarters in the States. There's been some information that the Gilmore main offices moved to Oakland, so the top has been giving us even more support." They stepped out of the elevator and started along the glass railing towards a glass door that led into a well-appointed office. Sara glanced over the railing and paused. Emily stopped to see what she was looking at. "Not that we were ever strapped for cash, thanks to her."

Sara gestured towards a blonde woman, rising through the air in an elevator across the divide. She was standing in front of a tall black man and seemed to be giving him a dressing down.

"Catherine Willows, the head of our branch, and daughter and heir to Sam Braun, the casino magnate."

Sara's voice was sharper than usual and Emily looked at her, surprised. Was their bad blood between them? But Sara was moving again and she trailed her into the office.

"So I printed out the records for Hogan's cell phone and his house phone. We have names, addresses, dates and times. We also have lackeys if you need any help with this."

Emily sat, paging through the notes. "No, I can handle it."

"The phone in here has scatter on it. Can't be traced."

"Thanks."

Sara was still hanging around. "Do you want coffee?"

Emily looked up and gave her a smile. "That sounds great."

"Okay, I'll just-."

"So you're New York."

It was probably impossible for anyone to sneak around in this building of chrome and glass, but Catherine Willows had managed to arrive without warning. Up close she was a petite woman with a sharp glare and high, strong cheekbones.

"Um, Emily," she stood, like her mother had taught her. "Emily Prentiss."

Catherine didn't smile or offer to shake hands, she just gave her a long appraising look, succeeding in making Emily feel more awkward and gangly than she had since she left her mother's house. Then Catherine glanced at Sara with narrowed eyes.

"I know you've gotten used to Sara waiting on you hand and foot, but I need her, so you'll have to do without."

"That's… fine." Emily was pretty sure Catherine was talking to her, but she wasn't looking at her.

"I promised to get her coffee. It would be rude to not keep my promise."

There was a challenge in Sara's voice that Emily hadn't heard the night before. She glanced between the two women, unsure of what would happen next. Their eyes were locked and the air seemed to retreat in fear as the silent battle was waged.

Catherine made a tactical retreat with a parting blow.

"Report to lab two immediately after you've finished… _servicing_ our guest."

Emily restrained her snort. Catherine stalked away, and Sara seethed with anger, glaring at Catherine's figure until the elevator had disappeared beneath the floor.

"Oh my god," Emily squeaked, and fell back into her chair. "Her?"

Sara looked at her, her eyes wide. If Emily was Jill she would have said something like, 'How can you stand the tension?' or 'Why haven't you just shoved her up against one of these bullet proof walls yet?' But she was Emily.

"I bet it's hard to find a private place in a building made of glass."

Sara just looked confused and a little worried. "I'll get your coffee." She left.

Emily rested her head on the desk and gave into the laughter.

***

Claire parked the third black sedan a few blocks away from the precinct and walked in. It was pretty empty. She approached the receptionist.

"I'm looking for Detective Tom Hogan."

The receptionist was a frazzle-haired blonde, with too heavily made up eyes and a pout that probably got her the job. She said something, and Claire realized she had been too busy staring at her lips to listen. That was a bad sign. Denial had been a good place, and she missed it.

"What did you say?"

"He's not here. But I could put you through to his partner, Detective Jacobi?"

Claire nodded. "Who's his supervisor?"

"It's Captain Logan."

"Is he in?"

The receptionist flipped through an appointment book. "No, he had a meeting with the board of Chilton Investments at ten and he hasn't come back yet."

Claire froze. She knew that name.

"Oh! There's Jacobi! He's leaving, I could-"

Claire covered the girl's mouth with her hand to make her shut up. A large, powerfully built black man was leaving the building.

"I'll go after him," she said, still covering the girl's mouth. "Thank you for you help."

She tailed Jacobi down the sidewalk. He was bellowing into his cell phone. "Well! What am I supposed to do about the brat! If she doesn't want it, she doesn't want it. Either you wait it out, maybe she'll grow into the idea, or you find somebody else to take over in her place!"

Claire frowned. The conversation meant nothing to her. Jacobi stormed down the sidewalk, clearly more and more irritated by whatever the other person was saying.

"I'm sorry if I can't say it with any more of that deference crap, but my partner's just been killed, and I don't have a lot of patience for your family issues anymore!" He was silent for a moment. "Yeah, I'm coming in. What? No, I thought it was just an accident. The poor fool. What do you mean, Logan?"

Claire was just about to dart across an open alleyway. Jacobi was heading into a twisty area of the city and she needed to get closer or she would lose him. There was a pile of crates on the other side of the road by a fish market that would serve as cover. She stepped out from behind the flowerbox and crashed into someone coming out of the alley.

To her humiliation, she lost her balance and fell in the gutter.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry."

And then she was even more humiliated, because it was Lori, the bartender, from the night before.

"You. What are you doing here?" Claire heard her voice come out even nastier than usual as she tried to repress the upside down feeling in her stomach.

Lori looked awkward, shrugged, and tucked her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans. "My mom lives around here."

"It doesn't matter." Claire sighed took Lori's hand to get to her feet. She brushed herself off then looked around for Jacobi. He was gone. Shit.

"And what's a pretty girl like you doing, skulking behind flower boxes."

Claire gave her a sharp look, but Lori seemed more pleased by the words she had picked than the implications of her question.

"Nothing."

"Well, if it's nothing, why don't you join me for lunch."

"No."

"Are you sure? The fish market right there makes a battered cod that would lure an Englishman."

Claire frowned, scanning the street. She had lost Jacobi, but if he came back this way she could see him from the window. But why was she even considering it? She would just get the woman to leave, and scout out the area to see if she could catch him again.

"I'm sure."

"But you can even pick out your own crab."

Unexpectedly Lori had tucked her arm through Claire's and dragged her across the alley to the fish market, which had a tank in front of it, full of Dungeness crabs. Lori leaned close enough to press her nose to the glass, her firm grip forcing Claire to lean in too.

"Oooh, that one looks like an Albert. Do you think he looks like an Albert?"

Claire eyed the crab. It looked like all the other crabs, if a little nervous of being the focus of the crazy bartender's attention. But he couldn't be nervous. She was personifying a crab. The crazy was rubbing off.

"I think he's a Prince Albert, actually. The royal bearing, the proud claws." Claire was looking at Lori, feeling somewhere between unnerved and irritated. Lori met her eyes and flashed a grin, then caught the back of her head and pushed her nose against the glass. The grin had some strange effect on her muscles, and Claire couldn't resist. "That's his wife, Lady Jane. Did you know Lady Jane Grey was only queen for nine days? And we still drink tea named after her. That's immortality."

Claire looked at the crabs. She was sure she was projecting her own feelings on them, but she couldn't help think that they looked utterly terrified. "Are you going to eat them?"

"Of course! The life of a royal is a bloody life to live!"

Claire let herself be dragged into the market, having entirely forgotten why she was supposed to be resisting lunch at all.

***

Jill plucked the flash drive from the computer and hefted the files she had found. She gave Heather a smile. "Need this for evidence," she said. Heather nodded and they said farewell at the door.

"Can I call you if I think of something else?"

"Sure." Jill gave her the number to the house they were staying at. It would be wiped and destroyed when they left.

When the black sedan had pulled away, Heather went into Tom's office and flipped through the remaining files. All the ones about the mob were gone. That was valid enough. But when she checked the computer every file related to the Cabots had been wiped, and Heather knew who had been in her house.

She went to the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart.

"Irina?"

***

Emily was compiling a list. Detective Hogan's most frequent calls on his cell were home, his wife's school, the precinct, his partner: Warren Jacobi, and his boss Michael Logan. It was actually pretty boring. She had checked all the less frequently used numbers, but they were usually easily explainable, pizza, his daughter's nursery school and kiddy gymnastics class, computer assistance.

There was one false alarm on the home phone records though. One number was stripped from the records as if there were an anti-trace on it. She wondered if this might be his mob contact with the Cabots, until she cross referenced the times of the calls with his cell phone use and realized that none of the calls were made while he was at home. Maybe his wife had a lover. And then she realized that the pattern was the same as those 10-10-2-20 numbers, where they route the call through a filtering switchboard before sending it through. She was probably just being frugal about long distance.

Emily was about to die of utter boredom when she saw Sara approaching through the glass.

"Finished in lab two?"

Sara just looked blank. Emily decided that she really needed to work on her joking ability.

"I was actually wondering how you were doing."

"There's nothing I need to pursue with these. Claire's covering the precinct, and Jill's got his wife, so unless I want to check out every place he's gotten pizza there's nothing for me to do."

"Actually, there is."

Both Emily and Sara jumped. Catharine had snuck up on them again. She handed Sara a sheet.

"Get your kit. Warren Jacobi's dead."

Emily's brow furrowed. "Did he have any Cabot connections?"

"He had whatever his partner told him."

Emily followed Sara down to the first bank of elevators. This didn't make sense. Jacobi was one of the people they were likely to have to get rid of, but unless Claire had taken action on her own there was no reason for him to be dead.

She dialed Claire. The phone picked up.

"Then, you see, Ricky has to fight all these other guys because they were pissed at him for smothering his nephews. But Harry, who was the son of this welsh dude who tickled the queen's fancy, he went to France…"

That wasn't Claire. If Emily could believe her ears, it sounded a lot like the bartender from the night before… explaining the Tudor ascension.

"Emily?" That was Claire.

"Hi… We just got a call. Warren Jacobi's dead."

There was silence. "But I just saw him. I was following him…" There was another pause. Emily imagined Claire checking her watch. "…Two hours ago."

"Sara and I are heading to the scene."

"I'll meet you there." The reception was muffled, as if Claire had pressed the phone to her shirt. "I have to go."

"S'ok. I'll see you later."

There was another sound that Emily tried not to identify, but failed, and could not believe her ears.

"Where is it?"

"Were you having lunch with that bartender?"

Dead silence.

"Tell me where the scene is."

Emily called Jill. She caught her back at the house, going through the files she had taken from Tom's computer.

"Warren Jacobi's dead." Jill glanced at the list of contacts that Heather had given her. It was longer than Emily's list, adding in David Hodges, a poker buddy of his, but Jacobi was at the top.

"You didn't-"

"It wasn't one of us."

"Tell me where."

Emily and Sara still reached the location first. It was another apartment, up external stairs.

"Go check it out. I'll get the gear."

Emily started up the stairs, leaving Sara at the car. The apartment building was undisturbed. A few kids were playing on a landing. A woman was hanging laundry from another. Emily rounded a corner and nearly bumped into a tall woman with dark hair and a dark tan.

"Oh! I'm sorry."

"No problem." The woman smiled. Her face was interesting, thin, straight, and well defined. Her teeth were bright. But she had three strange marks; one was a delicate white line across her forehead, joining her eyebrows above her nose. There were two more tiny puckered lines that ran parallel to the line of her nose, one on each side.

She stood aside to let Emily continue up the stairs, which she did, glancing back only once, but the woman had gone beyond her sight.

Jacobi's body lay on the floor in the hallway of his tiny apartment. He was still wearing his coat, but there were two slits in the back that had blossomed with blood. It looked like one of the thrusts had entered right at kidney level, and the other had severed his spine. Besides the fact that the killer had chosen to stab him in the back rather than the front, the style was exactly the same as Tom Hogan's murder.

Emily glanced around. The killer had probably waited outside for the man to come home. He waited until the door was unlocked and his victim stepped inside. Then he would approach, kill, and leave. Her training as a profiler said that this MO fit assassin far more closely than serial killer. There was no elaborate ritual to it, just practicality. But it also wasn't random. The Cabots wouldn't have sent an assassin without telling them, would they have? And if it was the Gilmores it still didn't make sense. Tom was pretending to be a part of the Cabots, so it would make sense for the Gilmores to choose him as a victim, but as far as she knew, Jacobi had no connections with the Cabots except through Tom. And even if Jacobi had been investigating the Gilmores like Tom had been infiltrating the Cabots it would make sense for them to kill him, but not in exactly the same way as Tom.

It was the exact same way. If it was an assassin it was an assassin with a personal agenda. It wasn't an elaborate ritual, but the ritual was there. It wasn't about pain or sex; it was about killing. He had taken out both partners. Emily had no idea why.

***

"So you're saying that someone is hunting the same people we're hunting, and it's not an assassin but a serial killer or someone with a vendetta."

Emily cringed at the harsh incredulity in Claire's voice. "That's what it looks like. We don't really know who they're hunting though. If Hogan and Jacobi, say, put someone in jail, they might be the only targets."

"You don't think that's the reason though, do you?"

Jill glanced between Claire and Emily where they stood in the kitchen. Claire was reading Emily too well, and that wasn't fair.

"The first killing was from the front, and there were no defensive wounds. Even if the killer surprised him, he would have at least tried to block. I don't think it was the killer's presence that shocked him into immobility. It was something else."

"If it was someone who he put in jail the recognition might have done it."

"Except in that case it would have been an obvious threat," interjected Jill. "He would have tried to defend himself."

Emily gave her a grateful look.

Claire frowned and paced across the kitchen. "So you're saying it's someone that he knew. Someone he didn't perceive as a threat, and yet someone with the motive to kill him. That's a tough combination."

Both Emily and Jill agreed.

Jill frowned leaning into the table. "There's just something strange about this."

Claire snorted.

"Not the whole front/back familiarity issue… or maybe that is it. It's the knife. Why a knife? They're more likely to be used in crimes of opportunity, not planned assassinations." Emily gave her an approving look. Seriously, did she think Jill hadn't picked up _something_ about profiling in the three years they've been working together? But approval was nice. "There was a serial killer… ages ago, who did something like this, two knife wounds, usually from the front. He killed kids mostly, though. I don't know if they ever caught him."

Emily pulled out her computer and opened it up. "Do you have a name or a date?"

"The Knifer, Austin, Texas," Jill paused, then smiled. "I know exactly when it was. That was the winter I joined the Cabots. Twelve years ago."

"How did you know about it?" asked Claire.

"We were all talking about it. We were freaking out. He was killing street kids."

Claire took off her glasses and just looked at her. Emily glanced up from the computer with a half grin. "You were in Texas then?"

"Yeah, Seattle in the summers. Texas in the winter. Better than going home. Not that they would have taken me even if I showed my face at their door."

That had been a crazy time. Everyone was on edge, not in the usual pot-haze that made such a crummy life livable. Jill had done wilder stunts than ever, back then, culminating in trying to steal from a Cabot headquarters. She had almost done it too, been ready to make off with four computers and a couple thousand dollars in cash, when they had caught her. She had tried to talk her way out of it, and they had laughed, and said she was a good talker, and if she wanted to 'start her real life' she should give them a call. A week later, after being beaten up by three guys for her stash, she gave them a call. A new name and identity, one summer of office work, and she was in school again, kicking herself for giving up her free-floating existence for this shit.

"They did catch him," Emily interjected into her thoughts. "A high-school teacher who wanted to be a Jedi. And the man who caught him: Officer Tom Hogan."

Claire's jaw dropped, and she stared at Jill incredulously. "How the fuck- Is this true? Are you trying to bullshit me?"

Jill cracked up.

Emily flashed her a dirty look. "It's true," she told Claire. "Think of it as an incredibly lucky guess. It will be easier to believe."

"Jeez! Why can't I just be right for once?" cried Jill, still doubled over from amusement at the look on Claire's face.

Both Claire and Emily gave Jill a disapproving look.

"Are you _sure_ you didn't check Hogan's record?" asked Emily tentatively.

Jill scowled. "Now _you_ don't even believe me. But actually…" She frowned and pulled the photo out of her pocket. "Heather mentioned something about Hogan solving a serial case that got him his badge. That guy murdered his girlfriend." She put the photo on the table. "Lindsay Boxer."

Saying that name made Jill feel sort of uncomfortable. She looked at the girl, the smile. Texan made sense now, if the Knifer had gotten her too. But she couldn't help but think that her knowledge of this woman being a Texan was a vocal one, not just the result of a picture in a paper.

"She's on here. Victim number five."

Claire rolled her eyes. "We're missing the point. Who is the killer? Is he still in jail? Any news of him being out?"

Emily looked over the screen of her computer with an apologetic expression. "Texas is a death penalty state. He was executed a decade ago."

"Well! We're back at square one, since it couldn't be him." Claire glared at Jill who raised her hands in defense.

"Couldn't it be someone who knew about that killer?" Jill offered hesitantly. There was something about this that made sense to her, but she couldn't explain why.

"You mean someone besides you?"

Emily was staring at the photo on the table. "Jill, where'd you get that picture?"

"Mm? Hogan's. Heather told me it was Lindsay."

"Heather again," muttered Claire.

"What can I say? She had a lot of good info." Emily was still frowning at the photo. "Why the interest, Em?"

"I ran into a woman who looked kind of like her today."

"Huh." Emily looked really uncomfortable, and Jill opened her mouth to question her again.

"Sorry to interrupt."

The three women looked up. Catherine, undetected as usual, was standing in the doorway. Behind her was Sara, carrying her case of equipment.

"There's been another killing. David Hodges."

Sara waved over her head. "Whoever wants to come with me…"

Emily jumped up. Jill glanced between them and then followed hastily.

"Good," she heard Catherine say as the door closed behind them. "I wanted to talk to you alone."

***

The sun was setting when they reached the downtown. It was easy to find where the body was, because the sirens and shouting led them right to it. David Hodges had been murdered in the lobby of a movie theater, and, unfortunately, the police had gotten there first.

It was swarming with cops and CSIs. The ME's white van was parked out front. They drove around the block slowly, noting the least guarded entrances and the number of cops.

Jill glanced at Emily and Sara. "Diversion time?" Emily gave her a wry nod. Jill knew she enjoyed this way too much, but seriously, who didn't love blowing things up. She had been taught this skill during a riot in New Hampshire, of all places.

They parked behind a dumpster near the back door of the theatre. Jill grabbed the two half full Styrofoam cups of coffee from the holders and chugged the cold dregs. She rummaged through the trash until she found a pair of serviceable beer bottles.

Sara and Emily pulled on vests and jackets that would make them pass for CSIs. Jill crumpled up the cups and stuffed the Styrofoam into the bottles.

"Gas can?"

Sara handed it to her and she filled them half way.

"Rubbing alcohol?"

Emily pulled hers out of her case and passed it over. Jill topped off the bottles and stuffed the tops with a screwed up wad of cloth. She pulled out her lighter and gave it a test flick.

"Okay, I'm ready. You two get in position."

Jill jogged off, carrying her two Molotov cocktails carefully, and grinning.

Around the corner she saw a bank, closed since it was nearly seven, glass windows, glass doors, perfect. This wasn't going to be one of those tactical adventures, it seemed. Dusk was already falling, and she had a ski mask for just such an instance. She pulled it on and lit the fuses.

There weren't too many people around, but some looked. One screamed. She hurled the first bottle. It shattered on impact and a huge fireball exploded, glass flying like shrapnel, black smoke billowing.

"Death to the Enemies of Quo'nos!" she shouted, just because.

The second one left her hand right as she saw a small figure, notepad out running up the street towards the explosion. Jill heard the bottle hit, but it didn't break. She was running, like an idiot, towards her own bomb, and leapt, knocking the tiny redhead to the ground. The bottle exploded, the fire having eaten up the fuse and reached the gas. Glass rained around them.

"Shit," Jill had banged something coming down like that. She scrambled to her feet and limped away, disappearing through the clouds of black smoke. She shook off the glass on her coat, coughing.

Cindy sat up, rubbing her stomach, and stared after the masked figure. She knew that voice, and that shape. Hurriedly she scrabbled around for her notebook, then jumped up and headed out of the smoke. Jill wouldn't have liked the look on her face, or the direction she was heading.

***

"Good," Catherine said as the door closed. "I wanted to talk to you alone, Alexandra."

Claire took off her glasses, folded them, and placed them gently on the table. "You don't have high enough clearance to call me that."

Catherine sat in the chair opposite. "I'm high enough to know."

Claire rolled her eyes as if to suggest that just _knowing_ wasn't very high at all.

"I thought we should make our positions clear."

"They're clear."

"Then what is your intended action if this killer is only going after Gilmores? Do you know enough to be sure it isn't one of ours?"

Claire snorted. "I thought you knew who I was."

"Warren Jacobi has been linked directly to the Gilmores. In fact, it looks like he was a close confidant of the Madame herself, with some responsibility about the succession."

"As if their petty issues with rebellious heirs is our problem. What is you point?"

Catherine picked up the list Jill had left on the table. "My point is that your original task is pointless. The information about the Cabots was not going to any legal authority. Warren Jacobi, Gilmore; David Hodges, low-ranking Gilmore goon; Michael Logan, Gilmore. Shall we bet that he's the next to die?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. But why do you think it's restricted to Gilmores? Did Hogan have any Gilmore connections?"

Catherine looked down at her notes. "Not as far as we know."

"So he might just have been being used as a pawn by them, knowing we'd find out if they used anyone with direct links to the Gilmores. It doesn't explain why he was murdered. In fact, our pat answer, to blame everything on the Gilmores, has been proven false."

"So you're planning on staying and solving this?"

"Why not? Nothing better to do."

***

Emily watched Jill jog away with a pair of firebombs in her hand and wished she didn't look like she was enjoying herself quite so much while doing something so incredibly dangerous.

Sara gestured her on and they ran towards the back door of the theatre, cases bumping against their knees.

They passed a narrow alley. Emily glanced down it and caught sight of a woman walking away. She froze. Dark hair, tan skin. The sound of an explosion and splintering glass ripped through the air. The woman turned, looking up so Emily could see her profile. There was no doubt.

"Emily! Hurry up!" Sara yelled. Emily turned away from the woman and jogged after her. She had to tell Jill about this.

The body was pretty well worked over when they got to it, sliding in undetected next to a fierce black woman who was trying to keep incompetents well away from her crime scene, while the police argued and rushed about, trying to figure out how to deal with the explosions.

The woman, who looked to be the Medical Examiner, announced that she'd have to do an autopsy to be sure, but cause of death was probably a stab wound in the kidney.

Hodges had the same two stab wounds in the back, but he hadn't been ambushed at home. _Is she escalating?_ wondered Emily. Sara talked most of the evidence out of a young punky CSI. He was spouting theories about muggings and eye harvesters from a weird-sounding movie he had seen recently. Emily extracts the contact number from the already harvested wallet, and then, when no one's looking, pockets the whole thing, evidence bag and all. Better support the robbery theory. She hadn't expected a contact number, but she wasn't surprised at finding it. Jacobi had had one too. She jammed a narrow screwdriver into a particular part of Hodges' cell phone and shattered the memory chip. It wouldn't slow them down for too long, but she doubted there'd be anything useful there.

***

The phone rang. Claire grabbed it, if only so she wouldn't have to talk to Catherine for any longer. "Hello?"

"Hi, this is Heather Hogan. Is Jill there?"

Claire let a half smile cross her face. The mysterious Heather, finally. "No, but this is her superior."

"I just, I mean, she told me to call if I thought of anything…"

The woman was a bundle of nerves. A soft crack in her voice made Claire wonder if she was close to tears. "Any information you may have could be useful."

Heather's voice was hesitant. Perhaps too hesitant? Claire frowned into the phone and ignored Catherine's inquisitive eyes.

"Yes, well. Tom… he had this number. He wouldn't call it on any of our phones, but he often went out to call it. I thought… I mean, he told me it was an FBI contact, but if you don't know about it… it could be…"

"I understand. Do you have the number?"

"Yes." Heather read it out.

"Is that all?" Claire asked as she finished notating it down.

"Yes, I'm sorry I couldn't think of anything else."

"No, thank you, you've been most helpful."

Claire hung up. Catherine took the number and typed it into Emily's computer.

"It's got an address."

Claire put her glasses back on. "Then someone ought to check it out." She stood.

"You shouldn't-"

Claire glared. "I'm fine."

"I'll come with you."

"I told you. I'm fine. Don't even think about coddling me." This was why she hated it when people knew who she was.

"You're important!"

"Not if I'm dead. And if I'm useless I'm as good as dead."

The building looked oddly familiar. Claire glanced out the window on the third floor and saw the flower shop across the street. Right below her was the fish market. Things started to link together.

"Oh, shit."

"I'm sorry, but that was a little slow, krasotka."

Claire raised her hands slowly with a self-depreciating roll of her eyes. A narrow woman in a black tank top that showed off her sculpted arms stepped out of the shadows, pointing a gun at her.

"You're a Cabot?" the woman asked, in her thick Russian accent.

"Unfortunately, I am."

***

Sara and Emily moved out, nodding to the cop at the doorway as they left the scene. Jill was waiting at the car, looking a little scuffed, favoring her right knee.

"Are you okay?"

She waved Emily's concern away. "Any luck?"

Sara shrugged. "Same MO, he's on our list, it's got to be the same person."

Emily nodded. "He had a contact too, even though he's not a Cabot."

"Gilmore?"

"Possibly."

Jill nodded, thinking. Emily took a step towards her.

"I saw the same woman walking away from the last two scenes. She looks like your Lindsay Boxer."

Both Sara and Jill stared at her. Jill's face twisted oddly. "She's dead."

"I think she's less dead than we thought."

Jill tried to take a step, but her banged up knee buckled, Emily caught her.

"What did you do to yourself?"

Jill pushed her off. "Just got a little close to my own diversion. I'm fine."

"Oh, yes, I can see you're perfectly fine," Emily snapped. It was always like this. She never admitted she was in pain when it really hurt, but she'd whine and gripe about imaginary bruises and blisters for hours.

Sara looked elsewhere for entertainment as the argument continued behind her. A woman with long messy brown hair was leaning against a building, watching them.

"Um, we've got company."

Jill and Emily finally shut up and looked.

"Hey," started Jill, not noticing Emily sliding in to keep her upright as she stepped towards the woman. "You're-"

The woman, the bartender from the previous night, came towards them, flashing an awkward smile. "I'm Lorelai Gilmore."

Jill's jaw dropped. Emily and Sara reached for their guns.

"Hey, hey! I come in peace." She gave her wide grin again and Jill felt a headache coming on.

"You're a Gilmore heir?"

"_The_ Gilmore heir. You haven't heard about my tendency to give my mother a heart attack at least once a month."

Jill looked blank. She didn't have a habit of keeping up on office gossip. Neither did Emily, it seemed.

"I have," said Sara. "That's why the Gilmores moved their headquarters here. You ran away."

"That I did, and was found again." Lorelai dismissed the conversation with a gesture. "But, actually, I have a real reason to out myself and approach you. My mom's captured Claire."

Jill snorted. "What?"

"I know I've only slept with her once, but I've kind of grown fond of her, and I'd rather not let my mom torture her for an excessively long period of time." Lorelai smiled again, in a way that made it seem like the entire thing was just an embarrassing inconvenience. Considering it was Claire, thought Jill, and that everyone wanted to torture her at some point in her life, it probably was.

Emily did not agree. When the words registered she nearly dropped Jill who had finally given in to leaning on her. "Wait? Torture her?"

Just then Sara's phone rang. She answered it. It was Catherine.

"Someone named Heather Hogan phoned asking for Jill. Claire took the tip and she's not back yet. She isn't answering her phone either."

Emily quickly tried Claire's number. Nothing.

Jill turned to Lorelai and smiled. "So, I guess we believe you. What are we supposed to do?"

***

Michael Logan was next and last on the list. Jill was headed there to try and intercept this Lindsay Boxer-look-alike before she killed him, or catch her afterwards. She dropped Sara at the house where she and Catherine would take another car and head back to central to try and figure out who would be next after Logan in case she was too late.

Emily and Lorelai were on their way to Gilmore headquarters. Heading into the dragon's nest with the dragon's only child was probably the safest way to do it, but Jill was still worried about Emily. She wasn't worried about Claire. Claire could take care of herself.

Distracted, she didn't notice the small red car trailing a block behind her.

***

"So we've caught one of the Cabot Assassins?"

Claire hung by her wrists from a bar on the ceiling. She still managed to look annoyed.

Madame Gilmore was a stiff woman in a twinset and pearls. But the expression in her eyes suggested she wasn't bothered about getting blood on her outfit.

"I'm afraid assassin is not the right term."

"You mean to say you were not involved in the killings of Tom Hogan, Warren Jacobi, and David Hodges."

"We were investigating them, but we had not yet decided to eradicate them."

"If you didn't kill them, who did?"

"We are still looking into that question."

"I don't like that answer."

The narrow Russian woman from before took a whip and struck Claire once across the back. Claire grunted, but didn't cry out.

"Try again."

***

Lorelai smiled at the man beside the door.

"Don't worry Luke, this is my friend Emily. I'm taking her to meet my mother."

The man took off his cap and pushed his fingers through his greasy hair. "Sorry Miss, go ahead."

"I guess you were telling the truth," commented Emily.

Lorelai shrugged. "Yeah, it kind of sucks having everybody be your subordinate except you mom."

Emily laughed. "You're totally right."

"Experience?" she asked curiously.

"Yes."

***

It was a nice house in a nice neighborhood. Jill parked and slid out of the car, testing her knee, which seemed to be better, and clicking the safety off her gun.

Just as she was about to move away from the cover of the black car, the door opened, and a woman stepped out. Dark hair, tan skin, killer smile…

"_Hey, kid, are you okay?"_

_Jill tried to move, but every bone in her body ached, and it smelled like she was sleeping in a pile of garbage. She opened her eyes a crack. One wouldn't open at all, but through the other she spotted a woman in a police officer's cap._

_Now she remembered, fucking crackheads. She managed to sit up. Nothing broken. It looked like the pile of garbage sacks had cushioned her fall._

"_Are you alright?"_

_The woman was still talking to her, fucking strong accent too. "I'm fine."_

"_You want to come back to the station? Coffee? A shower?"_

_Jill glared at the woman, who was holding out a hand to help her up. "No thanks."_

"_You sure?"_

_Jill stared at the hand. She felt like her life was splitting in two right here. She could take that hand and go where it led, suits, prosecution, serial boyfriends, cute reporters. Then there was the other way. A pay phone was on the corner. She had the number of the Cabots in her back pocket. Black slacks and turtlenecks, defense papers, mops and vinegar._

_She ducked away from the hand, scrambling to her feet._

"_Hey! I'm going to find you, kid! You can't run away forever!"_

_But she only had to run to the corner. A few days later, waiting for the Cabots to figure out what they were going to do with her, a scuffle outside. One of the guys came through the door with a bloody nose._

"_Some kid copper found our place. Can't let her go. Better call upstairs."_

The woman disappeared around the corner. Jill stepped onto the sidewalk and staggered with the weight of knowing. She went to the door and opened it. Same as before, lying flat, stabbed twice in the back. She shook her head, not even caring enough to deal with the body.

A gasp came from behind her. Jill turned.

"Cindy."

"What are you? Oh my god, what is going on?"

The little redhead was pale. Jill looked at her with a compassion she hadn't found before. She could have taken that hand. Things could have been so different.

"I'm trying to catch a murderer."

Cindy stared at the body. "But…"

"I'm not going to lie and say I'm with the police, because I'm not. You know that."

"The bomb…"

"One of my skills. That's not important. The important thing is figuring out who's next."

***

They just walk up the stairs. Everyone gives Lorelai half bows and opens doors for her.

"Here we are." Lorelai stopped outside the last door and gave Emily a smile. No one was there to open it, so Emily did.

"Go ahead, princess."

Lorelai stepped across the threshold, assuming an air of authority that Emily hadn't seen before. Emily walked behind her, at her shoulder like a lieutenant.

"Hi mom."

The woman in the center of the room turns, surprise on her face. Claire, who is cuffed and dangling from the ceiling, looks shocked and horrified. Emily gives her a sympathetic smile, but it goes unnoticed.

"Can you untie my girlfriend?"

If Emily could believe it, she would say Claire looks even more horror stricken at this, and mutters, "not your girlfriend."

"Lorelai! She's a Cabot assassin!"

"Actually, she's Alexandra Cabot."

"What!" both Claire and Ms Gilmore screeched. Emily looked at Lorelai. _What was she talking about?_

"How did you-" Claire started, her body seeming ready to fight even though she was still bound. Emily gaped. It was true!

Lorelai gave Claire an apologetic look. "Sorry I didn't say anything. I recognized you from those meetings, you know, before the feud started."

"I was eleven!"

"Your facial structure hasn't changed that much."

Emily found the shock to be too much, and it just became absurd. She laughed, doubling over in amusement. Jill really had no idea what she was doing when she managed to hook these two up. Just another of her lucky guesses.

Ms Gilmore sighed. "Irina, take her down please."

Claire, finally untied, stood stiffly rubbing her wrists, and glaring irrepressibly at Lorelai.

***

"All right, so who's next?"

Jill closed her eyes. Lindsay's boyfriend was Tom before she was taken by the Cabots and had her death faked. She escapes. Finds Tom, finds out that he's working for the same organization that held her captive for twelve years, kills him. Kills all his connections, one after another, doesn't care whether they're Gilmore or Cabot, just that they have ties to the mob. But she's reached the end of Jill's list. Who else…?

Claire… was taken after a tip by Heather, of course! Who else?

"Cindy!" The girl looks up at her, her eyes wide. "You wanted to be a crime reporter, right? You need to call the police, send them to 110 Hillcrest in Berkeley. You come, you'll get the scoop. We're going to catch a serial killer. It's my fault, and I'm the perfect bait."

***

"But what about this killer!" Ms. Gilmore exclaimed.

"I told you we were investigating that," Claire replied stiffly.

"We know who it is," interjected Emily, "at least we think we do. I've seen her twice. Jill's trying to intercept her."

"I should call her and tell her to stop," said Claire blandly.

"What? Why?" cried Ms. Gilmore.

"She's only killing Gilmores. Michael Logan is next. It's really none of our business."

Emily's jaw dropped. "But we almost have her!"

Ms. Gilmore glowered. "What do you want?"

"We want the information Tom Hogan collected from you, and safe passage out."

"It's already been integrated. It's too late for that."

"How about ending the feud?" suggested Lorelai. Everyone looked at her. "Because if we don't, both me and Alex, here, are going to be in a lot of trouble for what we did last night."

Emily snickered. Claire looked affronted. Ms Gilmore glanced between them, confused. Irina just grinned.

"Do you have enough power to do something like that?"

"I can agree to talks."

"I think that's probably more than this problem is worth."

"I won't ask for vengeance for the torture," said Claire stiffly.

Ms Gilmore frowned, but she was beaten. "Fine. Now do something about the killer."

"Wait," Emily stepped in to the center. "Is Heather one of yours?"

Irina nodded. "I'm her link. She called me about you all."

"Then we know who the next victim is."

"Call Jill."

No one picked up Jill's phone. Emily started to panic. "We have to go. Now."

***

It was already dark outside when Heather started to cook dinner. Little Lindsay had been put to bed after a quickly fried up hamburger. Heather hadn't felt like eating then. She still didn't, but it would be stupid not to. She took out the hamburger meat and turned on the burner under the cast iron frying pan. She chopped half an onion and a few cloves of garlic and had just finished kneading them into the meat with a liberal dose of salt and pepper as well, when the doorbell rang. She quickly washed her hands and went to the door.

She checked the peephole first, turning on the porch light so she could see, but the woman was turned away, only showing a smooth cheek and a tail of dark hair. She opened the door.

"Hi, Heather."

"Hello…" Heather stepped back as she recognized the woman, thinner, eyes darkened in the shadow, an oddly scarred, but still a gorgeous as Tom had always said when he was drunk, "Lindsay."

The door shut behind them. They stood quietly in the dim kitchen. Heather had only bothered to turn on the light over the stove while she was cooking.

"It was you, I guess, who killed him, Tom, I mean."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I couldn't recognize him anymore," Lindsay's eyes were like burning coals. Heather shivered, trying to glance around for something to defend herself with, knowing that humans were the best glance followers on the planet. "Something had corrupted him, turned him into something vile and wrong. That thing was you, wasn't it?"

"W-why do you think that?"

Lindsay laughed. "Don't play innocent with me. I know who you are, Heather Donnelly. I know who your family is, and I know what they do. Heather Derevko."

"But, but why do you think I corrupted him?"

"Who else is in the perfect position to do it?"

"Why do you think he was corrupt?"

Lindsay narrowed her eyes, and Heather breathed in sharply through her nose. "You can talk all you want, I'm still going to kill you."

"But you shouldn't have killed him. You were right about me, but you shouldn't have killed him."

"What are you talking about?"

Heather smiled, but there was no pleasure in it. "I wasn't here to corrupt him. I was a plant. He was meant to meet me, fall in love with me, marry me. But I was here to keep him pure."

"I was going to marry him. Before, and even after I escaped, I was going to find him, and I did, working for the same people who held me and tortured me for twelve years."

Heather snorted derisively. "You're an idiot."

"_What?_"

"I thought you were a cop. Don't you know anything about undercover assignments?"

"I checked. There was no records going anywhere in the system about him working undercover."

"That's because they were going to my people. It was an easy lie. His partner, his superior, even his friends were all my people. And so we sent him on a mission. We thought the Cabots might get him, if they caught him. We didn't think it would be a vigilante like you."

Lindsay was frozen and silent. Heather smiled savagely. "Did I shock you? Murderer."

"You're a liar."

"Do you think so? Do you think your beloved Tom, who loved you so much even after he had me, would ever betray his principles like that? God, he loved you so much he named our daughter after you, and you put a knife in his gut."

Her hands were shaking, but Jill saw her clench the knife tighter. "This is all your fault! You still deserve-"

She lunged and Jill darted out of the hall, grabbing her, pulling her away. Heather thrown up her arms, and the knife sliced her forearm, blood welling out.

"Stop it!"

Lindsay whiled on her attacker and Jill grabbed her knife arm, holding it away from her with every ounce of strength she had. Lindsay saw who she was fighting, and froze, her eyes widening.

"There's no reason to kill her, is there? It's not her fault. It's mine. I'm the one you really want."

"You…" It was clear Lindsay did remember her, but she had better make sure of it.

"What happened to you? You followed me, or something, and they caught you. Did they torture you? Did they forget about you? Did you blame me, over and over again, blame your self for chasing after a gutter punk? I was the one who ruined your life."

Jill could see Lindsay's eyes flickering between Heather and her. She couldn't decide who to kill first, could she? The one who had taken her lover and fooled her into killing him, or the one who had led her into a trap.

"Come on. She has a little kid. She made your boyfriend happy for a while. I was the one who rejected you, told you to fuck off. I chose them over you. Two unknowns, I took the one that looked like fun."

"Fun?" Lindsay stepped back, jerking her arm out of Jill's grip. "You would say that. Do you know what they did to me?"

"Tell me." Time, she needed time.

"They tried to corrupt me. They tried with words, with cash, and then with knives." Lindsay laughed shortly. "But I wouldn't give into them, not like you." She touched her face, pointing out the thin white scars. "You see these? They cut into all my sinuses and waited to see if I would drown in my own blood. Eventually they got bored."

"And then what?"

"They forgot about me. For years. Until they needed to clean out some old buildings and remembered they were keeping me. They took me to the border to shoot me. But I escaped." Lindsay smiled. "I never gave in."

"I'm impressed by your strength." She was, honestly. Standing up to years of torture and only loosing your mind? That was pretty good. "And I'm sorry for what they did to you." It was her fault. But Jill had made her decision, and Lindsay could have decided to leave her alone. "But tell me, what did you win, by staying so strong?" She glanced down and then back up at Lindsay's face. "What did you win?"

The knife moved quicker than she expected, no telegraphing, no warning. She could see it, but she couldn't move, couldn't-

A flash of black, a thud. Lindsay Boxer collapsed on the floor, the knife falling from her hand and skittering away.

Emily stood across her body, holding a cast-iron frying pan and looking embarrassed.

"Fuck, Emily!" Jill couldn't control the words. "You are so fucking sexy!"

Emily gave her an embarrassed smile.

Heather snorted and Jill spun. "Hey!" She gave her the 'don't diss my girl, finger-point of death.'

"No! You're totally right." Heather wiped the smile from her face as best she could and then looked down at Lindsay's prone form. "I was just sure…" She looked up at Jill. "And you're a Cabot! Why did you save my life?"

Emily set the frying pan down on the counter and flexed her hand a few times. "Feud's over," she said. "They've promised talks."

Jill looked at her and then at Heather. She shrugged. "That's news to me. I just don't like watching beautiful women die."

There was the sound of a siren in the distance. "Shit," muttered Jill, "We've got to get out of here. I tipped off the cops in case we didn't stop her."

Emily looked stricken at Jill's worst case scenario. Heather reached for the frying pan.

"I'll take that, and play the traumatized victim, yeah?" Then she yelped and dropped it back on the counter. "Shit! That's hot!" She stared at Emily. "How did you-?"

Emily looked at the frying pan, just as surprised at its temperature. "I didn't notice."

Jill shook her head and grinned. She and Emily turned to head out the back, but Jill stopped suddenly and looked back at Heather.

"If a reporter named Cindy Thomas asks, give her an interview, okay."

Heather looked bewildered but nodded and then tested the frying pan to see if it was cool enough to handle yet.

Jill and Emily jogged out the back, ducking around to where Claire was waiting with the car, just as the first police vehicle sailed up, siren wailing.

They stayed just long enough to see Heather be escorted outside, the frying pan handle clasped in a convenient oven mitt, weeping and gasping like a perfect victim.

***

"Wait, you're kidding me, our little princess is Alex Cabot?"

Emily laughed. "I told you that nickname was perfect."

A week of vacation later, they were heading home. Jill grabbed a paper in the airport. Front page, byline Cindy Thomas, Crazed Killer Captured! She snorted at the headline.

It looked like someone else had linked Lindsay to the Knifer killings and made up some crazy idea that she had been behind them then too, then faked her death and ran away to China while the high-school teacher. who was either framed, or a copycat, was arrested and put to death. She reemerged to take vengeance on her ex-boyfriend, killing him, his friends, and attempting to kill his wife and child. She had been diagnosed as a paranoid schitzophrenic, prone to fantasies about crime and mob violence, and considered herself an avenger. As California was not a death-penalty state, and the lawyers had successfully fought extradition, she was likely to be locked up in a high-security psychiatric ward. That was good news.

Jill had mentioned what had happened to Lindsay Boxer to Claire, who nodded, and said, "I'll deal with it."

Knowing who Claire actually was made the words seem to say that whoever had screwed up with Lindsay was as good as dead.

Jill didn't feel guilty about the situation anymore. She had made her decision, chosen her own life, and it was pretty good the way it was.

Emily leaned on her shoulder and glanced at the byline. "What was up with her? Anything going there?"

"Cute, but not my type, in this life at least. And she's probably more interested in her byline than me." She flicked her eyebrows at Emily. "Sara?"

"Cute, but not my type." Jill smacked her sarcastic ass. Emily yelped and ran down the concourse. Jill chased her, dodging people and luggage until they crashed into the wall at their boarding gate. They called it a tie there and flopped into a set of chairs.

"And she has her own unrequited crush to deal with." The words were said quietly, but clear enough.

Jill's raised her eyebrows curiously. _Her "own" huh?_ She hooked her arms around her rescuer Emily's shoulders and gave her an awkward comfort-hug then a noogie.

"What about you, Claire? Meeting up with Lorelai again?"

The Gilmore heir had spent nearly the entire week at their house. She spent the days driving Claire crazy and napping on the sofa, and the nights driving Jill and Emily crazy until they gave up sleeping at night and also napped during the days when it was less noisy. Claire had proven Jill's hypothesis correct, she really didn't need to sleep at all.

Claire scowled. "Not if I see her first. I have an irritating feeling she'll pop up at the most inconvenient times."

"She said she'd been considering moving to New York," added Emily with a grin. "Do you think the families would consider a merger?"

"There is no way in Hell I would marry that woman!"

Emily and Jill fell over each other laughing, and finally Claire joined in.

They laughed all the way home.


End file.
